


In Another Life

by JDL



Category: Actor RPF, White Collar RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDL/pseuds/JDL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chaptered AU fiction about two people falling in love that is forbidden in a harsh society.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on true events that took place very long time ago; gathered from some of my close contacts. Modified to protect identities. 
> 
> I'm also giving my characters faces through Matt Bomer and his partner Simon Halls- cause I'm in love with this beautiful couple! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No offense intended. Relationships with other characters such as their parents and friends are all fictional and do not represent their real life interactions. This is only an Alternative Universe fiction.
> 
> Warning: Will be added to each chapter. This chapter: None 
> 
> Unbeta'd. All errors are mine.

> _How long do I have to wait my love?_
> 
> _If not in this life, will I ever find you in another?_

 

It was nearly two years since he had been running errands for this family, but he still could not understand why the older folks in this home never quite liked him. He tried to keep his head down and not look up as the man continued to resent him. For being 10 minutes late. To get their 50 kilo rice bags from their favorite store located six miles away. Poor Patch was really old, he didn't have the heart to push him to speed up. For a few extra coins and a meal, he better stay quiet. 

"Pa, just end it already. The rice will be ready in no time!", Tim helpfully said.

He dared to give a glance at his mentor Tim, the man who hired him; right then he was rubbing his temple - an indication that he was getting tired of this little drama.

His eyes, as blue as the Pacific or that clear blue sky in autumn morning or something such as that his uncle once described, shifted to the other man sitting next to Tim. The man was looking at him. Their eyes met. A brown set of amused eyes met the blue. The heat on his cheeks rose immediately and he quickly averted the gaze. Being begrudged in front of strangers was not something he ever enjoyed.

"You know Timmy boy I cannot have meal with those breads. When you grow older, you will understand. The feeling of gastric burns."

Tim wanted to say it's the tobacco that burns but instead he tried to be helpful again, "I am sure I will Pa. Matty, why don't you go and help Mam in the kitchen?" he looked up at the boy standing dutifully, hands on his sides. Tim noticed the rip on the shirt, just there at left shoulder.  _Must have gotten torn while dragging the bags to the cart,_ Tim ended  that thought with a promise to himself to give an old shirt to the boy.

Matt quietly turned to leave for the kitchen; he could hear the conversation about some publication business resume on the table.

 

*****

 

Prior to a dreadful fire that burned down their carpentry workshop and store along with half of their house, Matt never imagined he could be doing household works, let alone, in a kitchen. He liked it better when he took care of the horses in the barn.

He was a good child to his folks but oddly his parents seemed to never quite love him the way they loved his siblings. Yet, he was a happy child always telling his father he will work hard to become a good carpenter.

He really worked hard after school to learn all the tricky techniques. When the boys went to cause all kinds mischief, he spent his afterschool sitting at a corner of the workshop, carving and crafting artwork from leftover pieces. And each time he proudly showed a new motif, his father only grunted and went back to his own work. He tried to make a reasoning that he just caught his father at a bad time; but each time he watched his brother's crafts were cherished, his heart sank a little. He ran his fingers around the smooth surface of his crafts and wondered what went wrong there?

In one of those evenings while having dinner, at a tender age of 13, he asked, "Dad, why do you never like my crafts?"

"What do you mean?", his father looked up from his soup and gave his attention to his younger son.

"You never like mine. If you tell me what's wrong then I..." he was cut short as his father abruptly dropped his spoon in the bowl, making a loud clinking sound.

"Yours look pansy. Now finish your meal and go to bed."

_Pansy_.

 

Matt looked at his father with a disbelieving expression, eyes wide, fleeting emotions. But he said nothing, went to do what he was told.

 

That night, lying on his bed, he stared at the angel figure he crafted once, sitting on his windowsill. He picked it up and ran fingers on the smooth crafts and pretty flowers adorned its feature. _Pansy_.

Tears flowed and he immediately wiped them away. _Real men don't cry! Pansies do!_ He berated himself but the tears didn't stop. Was that how his father always saw him? Was that the reason he never received a fair love? Was that why when he fell, instead of kissing the bruises away, his father hit the back of his head, blaming him for being careless?

And so, it did not come as quite a surprise when his father told him he should drop school and start earning his own bread. Their livelihood, savings, home burned down because his brother forgot to turn off the lamp. But it was him who had to leave. _A man can earn his own bread, I am a man_. At 15.

 

*****

TBC


End file.
